


(and out of all of this) you will find breath

by themetgayla



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: (briefly) - Freeform, Amy Dies, Anaphylaxis, Angst, Anxiety, Death, Dog Allergy, F/M, Heart Attacks, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, I’m sorry, Medical Procedures, More Hurt Than Comfort, Severe Allergy, Surgery, anaphylactic shock, just quickly, poor jake :(, they bring her back it’s fine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 07:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20336596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Amy has a severe allergic reaction to a dog, dies, and then comes back to life. Jake is, of course, panicking, and desperate for her to be okay.





	(and out of all of this) you will find breath

**Author's Note:**

> I was randomly inspired to write this because there are literally NO fics of Amy being allergic to dogs? _wHY?_ it’s literally mentioned so much in the show, but i feel like it’s downplayed bc literally she’s _deathly_ allergic to them. so i wrote a fic where we actually see the reaction and the consequences.
> 
> i’m warning y’all, it’s angsty. i am not a doctor, all medical language and information i got from google or my friend who knows a lot about this shit.
> 
> enjoy!

For the severity of her allergy, Amy thinks she should really start trying to avoid dogs. She’s not sure quite what possesses her to take those two — admittedly adorable — puppies into her arms just to please Captain Holt.

Her desperation for approval is obviously life-threatening. Quite literally.

Her nose begins to run almost immediately, and her hands start to itch where her bare skin is rubbing against the puppies’ fur. She ducks her head as she sneezes, cheeks instinctively heating up as Captain Holt realises her allergy.

“Are you allergic to dogs, Santiago?”

Amy shakes her head fervently, forcing a weak smile as her throat begins to tighten. She’s used to it, of course she is, but it doesn’t get any less scary each time.

“Nope. I just— I just need an epi-pen because my happiness is making my throat close up,” she babbles. A choked cough crawls up her throat as she hands the dog back to Holt, hands flying to her throat to scratch at it.

She can’t  _ breathe _ . She’s going to die.

(Quite literally.)

Amy runs from Holt’s office to the bathroom, where she splashes cold water on her face and takes a few deep, gasping breaths. She’ll be fine.

The itchiness of her hands is already ceasing, and she thinks for a moment that her throat isn’t quite so tight anymore.

Confident she’ll be okay, Amy straightens up in the mirror and flashes her brightest smile. Yeah, she’s fine.

****

* * *

After twenty minutes of attempting to write up an arrest report, it’s abundantly clear that Amy is  _ not fine _ .

She can’t stop sneezing, and a red rash is beginning to show on her hands. She tells everyone she’s fine, just  _ dandy _ , in fact, but she knows she’s not. She would get her epi-pen, but she can’t stop trembling, and her arms suddenly feel like lead.

Head swimming, Amy claws at her throat, certain that it’s closing up. She tries to take deep breaths, but she  _ can’t _ . They come out short and sporadic, heart hammering in her chest as she rises from her desk in confusion.

“H-Help,” she whispers, gaze flying around the precinct, trying to identify someone free to grab her epi-pen. Everyone seems busy though, and Amy’s never been one to disrupt people.

Moments later, she begins to sway, legs weak and unsteady beneath her. She still  _ can’t breathe _ , and it’s not helping her already spiking anxiety. A choked plea falls past her lips, seconds before her legs buckle and she slumps to the floor, head cracking against the cold linoleum.

“Oh my god, what happened!” Jake cries, suddenly looking up from where he’s halfway through solving a rubix cube. He throws it down and rushes to his partner, panic clutching at his chest. It knots and tightens.

Captain Holt emerges from his office at the commotion, jaw dropping when he sees Amy lying lump on the floor, Jake knelt beside her. “She’s experiencing anaphylaxis. Where’s her epi-pen?” His voice is quietly calm, as it always is in times of crisis.

Rosa stands from her desk and rushes to Amy’s handbag, digging through various compartments until she produces two epi-pens.

“Quick, put her in the recovery position in case she’s sick.” Rosa crashes down onto the floor with an audible crunch, knees first, and begins manipulating Amy’s body.

The brunette is pale, deathly so. Rosa presses two fingers against her neck, jaw clenching when she only feels a weak pulse, barely there. She pulls the blue cap off the epi-pen and plunges it into Amy’s thigh, holding firmly after she hears it click.

The rest of the squad watch, breathless and in slight awe.

“Call 911,” Rosa barks towards Jake, who scrambles for his mobile immediately, hands shaking. He dials, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; he can’t tear his eyes away from Amy’s boneless form.

_ “911, what’s your emergency?” _

“I need an ambulance, my partner’s experiencing anaphylaxis. We’ve used an epi-pen and she’s in the recovery position, but—”

_ “Address?” _

“The Ninety-Ninth precinct.”

_ “An ambulance is on its way.” _

The line goes dead, and Jake drops his phone onto his desk. He voices the question no one else has dared to. “Will she be okay?”

“Epinephrine wears off after ten to twenty minutes, so as long as the ambulance comes before then, she should be okay. She might have another shock, though. Anaphylaxis can be fatal,” Rosa says, voice emotionless and factual. Jake can see the worry swirling in her eyes, despite her seemingly calm facade, and it does nothing to help his rising anxiety.

“How do you know all this?” Gina says from across the room. Her phone isn’t even in her hand, and the worry is clearly visible in the lines around her eyes and the frown on her face. 

“I did three years of med school,” Rosa says, clearing her throat quietly. “And my niece has a severe peanut allergy.”

No one really knows what to say after that, too distracted by the shock of Amy’s collapse. No one knew of her allergy, and she’s been at the Nine-Nine for  _ years _ .

The paramedics burst in from the elevator, all three of them carrying all kinds of medical equipment Jake can’t name.

“Can someone tell me what happened?”

Rosa speaks up. “Amy Santiago, thirty four. She collapsed after experiencing severe anaphylaxis due to contact with dogs. She’s been unconscious and unresponsive for eight minutes. I administered epinephrine five minutes ago, and nothing has changed. I put her in the recovery position too,” she relays, voice steady.

“Good, well done.”

“Will she be okay?” Jake repeats, clutching the edge of his desk to support himself. He feels rather faint, but he has to be okay, for Amy.

“Your colleague here did all the right things, which is a good start. I can’t make promises, but she should be okay.” Jake nods, and sinks down into his chair, unable to stand any longer. He feels  _ sick _ .

The paramedics busy themselves checking Amy over; one attaches an OBS machine to her finger while another checks her pulse. “Blood pressure is 70/40. Heart rate is thirty one beats per minute. Oxygen levels are fifty five in partial pressure.”

“Is that bad? It sounds bad,” Jake begs, tears spilling down his cheeks as the paramedics move swiftly to pull out an oxygen mask.

“Miss Santiago is experiencing low blood pressure, heart rate and oxygen levels. We need to get her to hospital now. She could go into cardiac arrest, or start to experience hypoxia.” The paramedic sounds awfully calm, but from the panic behind Rosa’s eyes, Jake knows it’s bad. Really bad.

One man supports Amy up into a sitting position and fits her with the oxygen mask. She’s still out cold, breaths weak and stuttered.

Seconds later, a stretcher is produced from somewhere, and they’re lifting Amy’s body onto it. It scares Jake more than he’d like to admit to see her like this. She’s always been a rare beacon of light in his life, always there for him, a steady presence through his struggles. Yes, they had a rocky start, but now he’d dare to call them friends.

(He’s still in denial about his feelings.)

He watches, helpless, as the paramedics secure straps across her ankles, knees and hips, attaching it to the tri strap over her torso. She looks… dead. And that  _ terrifies  _ him.

They disappear into the elevator, stretcher, equipment and all. And then there’s silence.

“We need to get to the hospital,” Jake cries, flying from his chair, barely pausing to grab his keys as he stumbles across the bullpen and down the stairs. Rosa, Terry, Gina and Charles follow him, all desperate to be there for Amy.

Captain Holt has to tie up a few things — being the damn  _ captain _ — but he intends to follow too. He will not sit at the precinct while one of his best detectives fights for her life.

* * *

When the squad arrive at the hospital, after speeding through Brooklyn, lights and sirens and all, Amy’s apparently in surgery.

“For  _ what _ ?!” Jake cries. He slumps into a chair, dropping his head into his hands as tears flow unabashedly down his puffy cheeks.

“She’s probably having a tracheostomy,” Rosa tells him quietly, placing a rare hand of comfort in his back.

“Speak English, Rosa.”

“It’s where they put a breathing tube into you windpipe if you’re still not breathing properly,” Rosa explains. Jake nods, unable to form the words to express himself.

How could the world be so cruel to take Amy away from him like this? They were just getting closer, voluntarily spending time together outside of work, developing  _ feelings _ .

But now, Amy could fucking  _ die _ .

They sit and wait, hearts in their respective throats as they await any news.

* * *

Even after the tracheostomy, Amy still isn’t breathing properly. Her heart rate is still dangerously low, and so are her oxygen levels. They’ve administered ipatropium bromide, a drug to clear her airways, but her breaths are still short and growing increasingly further apart.

She’s pale, almost translucent, body swallowed by the hospital gown, small and fragile. They’ve almost given up hope — there’s not much else they can do to get her to breathe; it’s up to her body now. But then—

“Shit, she’s gone into cardiac arrest, ventricular fibrillation. Commence CPR,” the head surgeon yells. A doctor begins chest compressions, counting aloud as she presses down repeatedly. “Get the defibrillator.”

The gown is torn open, and the four patches are placed on Amy’s body, two by her heart, one on her torso and one on her back. CPR is momentarily stopped, and everyone steps backwards.

A doctor stands by the defibrillator, ready to send an electric charge to Amy’s heart. “Charge 150, stand clear,” the surgeon orders.

“Clear?” The doctor asks.

“Clear.” The surgeon nods.

A shock pulsates into Amy’s heart. The surgeon checks for a pulse. “Charge 200.”

“Clear?”

“Clear.”

Another shock. Still nothing.

“Charge 250.”

“Clear?”

“Clear.”

A tiny flutter.

“Charge 300.”

“Clear?”

“Clear.”

A pulse. Finally a pulse. Weak, but there.

“We’re good. Well done everyone.”

* * *

When a doctor finally comes out to update the squad, they’re all nervous wrecks. It’s clear they’ve all been crying, terrified for their friend.

“Hello, my name is Doctor Walker. Are you here for Miss Amy Santiago?” They all nod tiredly. “I have good news. She went into cardiac arrest on the operating table and died—”

“ _ How is that good news?! _ ” Jake explodes, voice cracking. Captain Holt places a hand on his arm, pulling the young man into him comfortingly.

“I haven’t finished. They brought her back. She’ll be okay. She’s not quite stable, and she’s in the ICU. But she’ll live.”

Cheers and whoops of relief rumble throughout the group, all smiling widely despite the clear exhaustion affecting them all.

“Can we see her?” Jake asks, eyes bright and hopeful. He can stand now, legs no longer shaking like jelly.

“Not yet. We need to make sure she’s stable, and can breathe unassisted before anyone sees her. And it’s family only, sorry.”

“But—”

“Actually, is one of you Jake Peralta?” Jake nods, suddenly gripped with anticipation. “You’re listed as her emergency contact, so you’ll be able to see her first. I’ll come and fetch you in an hour or so.” The doctor rushes off, clearly hassled, leaving Jake confused.

He’s Amy’s emergency contact? Since when? And  _ why _ ?

* * *

Two hours have passed since the doctor informed the squad that Amy would live. Jake’s been waiting impatiently, knee bouncing the whole time, looking up hopefully every time a doctor stepped through the door.

Until finally, Doctor Walker approaches them.

“She’s stable, so Mr Peralta, if you’d like to follow me?” The man rises on trembling legs and trails after the woman, promising to tell Amy of the rest of the squad's good wishes.

“Now Mr Peralta—”

“Jake is fine.”

“ _ Jake _ . Miss Santiago is stable, as I said, but there are many complications that can come with both anaphylaxis and cardiac arrest, as I’m sure you’re aware. An incubated tube often causes pneumonia, and broken ribs often come from CPR. She could also have brain damage, and internal bleeding. We don’t know what damage has been done to Miss Santiago yet.

“She’s scheduled for an MRI tomorrow morning to check for brain damage and internal bleeding. And an X-Ray to confirm what we suspect are broken ribs. I’m sorry to tell you that there are all sorts of things that could go wrong, here. I have to prepare you for the worst.”

Jake listens, stunned into silence at Doctor Walker’s grave words. Amy has gone through a fuck ton of shit  _ just  _ to have a bunch of complications? Why is the world so against her? What did she ever do to deserve this? Jake’s convinced she’s a damn  _ angel _ . No angel deserves this.

“So she could still die?”

“I won’t lie. Yes, she could.” Jake’s never seen a doctor affected by a patient, but he can tell Doctor Walker is struggling. Her eyes are sad, sad like his.

Jake can’t help the tears that roll down his cheeks, or the shaking of his hands as he pushes the door to the ICU open. The doctor stays beside him, guiding him to Amy’s bed. The curtains are pulled around it for privacy, thank goodness.

“I’ll give you some time alone with her. We had to induce her post arrest, so we’ll be back soon to check on her.” She slips away with a soft pat on his shoulder.

Jake turns and fixes his eyes upon Amy. She looks  _ tiny _ . She’s always been petite, but here she looks like a china doll, fragile and easily breakable. The sheets swallow her slim frame, drowning her in their ocean.

She’s hooked up to what seems like a dozen machines. Rosa had explained what machines to expect beforehand, so Jake’s a little less intimidated than he otherwise would have been. He picks out the ECG machine, ventilator, arterial line and standard OBS equipment surprisingly easily.

(He wonders for a second whether he’d make a good doctor, but as soon as he lays eyes on Amy again, he thinks  _ probably not _ .)

Jake pulls up the chair beside her bed and laces his fingers with hers. “Oh Amy,” he mumbles. “You don’t deserve this. I’m so sorry. I wish… I don’t know. I wish you were okay, obviously. God Jake, say something  _ useful _ . I’m right here, I’ll stay by your side through it all, okay? The rest of the squad send their good wishes. I promised I’d tell you.

“You know I’m bad with words but— but  _ please  _ be okay. We all need you.  _ I  _ need you. Please.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! comments and kudos = second chapter!!


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